Bill seemed rather stunned when he left. Tony came home, as I have said, but Dwight Elliott stopped off at the hospital to see Evans. He was much better; up and down from his bed, his bandage a small one, and his appetite—the nurses reported—enormous. But he had still no light to shed on his attack. He maintained that he did not know who had struck him or who would want his keys.

But he was surly that day. He had heard about the murder, and he said Don’s death was no loss to anybody, so far as he could see. Then he intimated that he would like to be alone, leaving Mr. Elliott puzzled and indignant.

“He’s not like himself,” he reported that night at dinner. “I’ve known him for years, but he didn’t want to talk. I don’t suppose he knew Morgan, did he?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Maud told him sharply. “He’s old and just now he’s feeble. Why would he kill Don Morgan? It’s silly.”

Curious, since the time was to come when even Evans was under suspicion. But then so was everybody else, including most of us at the Cloisters. In fact, something of that sort began that same night.

We were having coffee and liqueurs when Jim Conway was announced. We were all there: Maud, Bessie, Tony, Dwight Elliott, and myself. Bessie had been quiet through dinner, and I thought still looked pale under her make-up. Maud appeared worried but nothing more. But Tony was tired, and showed it.

“More detective business?” he said when he saw Jim. “Well, come in and have a drink. Whom are you suspecting now?”

“Everybody,” said Jim cheerfully. “Morgan died at twelve o’clock or thereabouts last night. Maybe a little earlier. We don’t know. Just now I want to talk to Pat Abbott.”

“I suppose she hobbled out with that game ankle of hers and pulled off a crime to pass the time!”

“Well, somebody did it,” said Jim, still amiable. “Now listen, Pat, you’ve insisted all along that when you fell down the elevator shaft you fell on somebody. I suppose you’re sure of that?”

“I am.”

“It wasn’t by any chance the dog you hit?”

“Roger was inside by that time. He was whimpering in the hall over my head when I came to. Anyhow it was no dog.”

Jim looked around at us, his genial face apologetic. “It’s like this,” he said. “I’m sorry to bring up anything unpleasant. The fact is, the autopsy today found some bruises on Morgan’s back. They were only a few days old. Lydia knows nothing about them. If you fell on him—”

It was then that Bessie dropped her coffee cup. When order was restored Maud was still looking astounded.

“What would he be doing in this house?” she asked. “I never even saw the man.”

“I’m not sure he was. All the same, he wasn’t a sick man. If he took Lydia’s car out last night he could have done it before. He might have had his own reasons for coming here before—well, before last night. You didn’t know him, Mrs. Tony, did you?”